The collared girl shuddered. Slave girls fear free women, greatly.

The collared girl shuddered. Slave girls fear free women, greatly. There is little to wonder about in this. Free women, perhaps envying them their collars, are often extremely cruel to them.
“Do you think she would make a good slave?” I asked.
The girl smiled. “I think she would make an excellent slave, Master.”
“I shall have to keep that in mind,” I said.
Swiftly the girl knelt before me. “I assure you that she is a slave,” she said. “I remember her. She is a slave. It is wrong for her not to be put in a collar. She is a slave, truly. Thus she should be made a slave, and be used, and treated and handled accordingly.”
“You do not know her,” I said.
“Perhaps it is you who do not know her,” she said.
I smiled.
“I am an enslaved woman,” said the girl. “Do you not think that one slave knows another?”
I laughed.
‘Take her in hand,” she said. “Take away her clothes. Put her in a collar. Throw her to your feet. Use her. You will see!”
I smote my thigh, laughing, in the Gorean fashion, so preposterous were the urgent words of the lovely, kneeling slave. How preposterous it was even to think of the lovely Miss Henderson as a slave.
The girl knelt back, on her heels. “I assure you, Master,” she said, “she is as much, or more, a slave than I.”
“Watch your tongue, Girl,” I said, angrily, “lest it be slit.”
She shuddered, and put down her head. “Forgive me, Master,” she whispered.
“She is different from you,” I said. “You are only a shameful and degraded slave.”
“Do you wish her to be herself,” she asked, “or to conform to some alien image which your culture has devised for her?”
I did not speak.
“She is not a man,” she said. “She is a woman.”
“They are the same,” I said.
“That is stupid,” she said.
“I know,” I said. Then I said, angrily, “I know that she is not a man. I know that she is a woman.”
“And if that is so,” she said, “how do you consider her differently, how do you treat her differently?”
“I don’t know!” I said.
“Perhaps Master is indeed from Earth,” she said.
“I was once from Earth,” I said. “I must respect her.”
“Do not respect her,” she said. “Fulfill her.”
“How?” I asked.
“Make her your full and total slave,” she said.
“I cannot,” I said.
“Surely Master knows he is of the dominant sex,” she said,
“and that it is those of our sex who must submit.”

Rogue of Gor, p. 171-172

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